HAMLET         Look here upon this picture, and on this,

The counterfeit presentment of two brothers:

See what a grace was seated on this brow,

Hyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself,

An eye like Mars to threaten and command,

A station like the herald Mercury

New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill,

A combination and a form indeed

Where every god did seem to set his seal

To give the world assurance of a man;

This was your husband.        (3.4.51-61)

Look here! Look! Look! Look at them, upon this picture, and on this—miniatures, full-sized portrait, photos, the cover of TIME magazine, whatever—two pictures, showing the counterfeit presentment of two brothers. My dad, your first husband, and his brother, my uncle, your second. LOOK at them! And he can shove them in her face, look, LOOK! See what a grace was seated on this brow, my dad, he looked so noble, kingly—and he was handsome too, with Hyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself—he looked like a GOD, that brow, that hair—and an eye like Mars to threaten and command, warlike in his gaze, serious, grave, a man you’d follow into battle, obey without question—and a station like the herald Mercury new-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; he even stood as if he’d just fallen to earth, a god on the summit of the highest hill. My dad, LOOK at him; he was amazing, a combination and a form indeed where every god did seem to set his seal to give the world assurance of a man. He wasn’t just a king, he was godlike, perfect in every way. The perfect man. This, this was your husband, says Hamlet, spitting out this, perhaps, or choking on it, and with a heavy emphasis on husband. (I miss him. Don’t you? But also, I’m not like him, am I? I feel inadequate just looking at him. Grief is so mixed up.)